Deceptive Grace
by cyneris
Summary: Alone and on the verge of death, Harry Potter is given a second chance in the form of a graceful woman with a dangerous offer. He accepts, enrolling into a school where power and ambition are the only things which will keep him alive.
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue: Current Day**

It was a world of backstabbing deceit and twisted lies. A world in which equality was a thing of the past and power was its own form of currency. Where there was always an opportunity to rise if you had the courage and ambition to surpass yourself, climbing and clawing wildly as you made your way to the top. It was a world of beauty and extravagance, of luxury and decadence. A world where dreams were nothing more than mere wish without vision, where ambition was measured on a scale of skill and perseverance.

There were kings here who fell to ruin in an instant, ruled by pride or vanity, slaves who rose up the ranks to nobility. There was power where there was will, will where there was purpose. And as the man once known as Harry Potter looked upon his world, he could ask for no more than this. _This was home._

He gazed, surveying the underground city of wealth and magic with a deep-seated satisfaction. There truly was magic here. It rose up from beneath the city and arched up to the surface above them. Magic made the air shimmer and the waters glow. The city _was_ magic.

Albus Dumbledore had once stated that the beginning was often the best place to start. In this case, the beginning of Harry Potter's story lies in its end.

**As the Story Begins: 4 Years Ago**

Harry lay, barely breathing, on the floor of the small cupboard underneath the stairs. His chest rose slowly in shallow movements as trickles of blood fell to stain the old wooden panels underneath him. Stabs of pain shot up his legs and through the bones he was sure were broken. His arms throbbed and his back stung.

In the hazy mist of pain that now suffocated his thought processes, Harry realized that this would be the most pathetic way to die. Having survived Voldemort – how many times had it been now? – being mauled to death by his obese uncle was more than unbearably pitiful.

What had been the reason this time? Oh yes, he remembered. _"This is for existing, you worthless freak!"_ What an absolutely meaningless reason to die for. Harry couldn't help but feel indignant as he shifted his left arm, which had previously arched over his head uncomfortably. At least Voldemort would have given him a somewhat dignified death – a purpose for it, at the very least. Dying simply because he existed was ridiculous.

Then again, his uncle _was_ rather simple. He led a simple life working at a drilling company, was married to a simple woman, and had fathered a simple child. His home was as simple as any other home on the block. Even the advice the doctor had given him when he had gone for a physical check up was simple: Go on a diet.

Somehow, through the mist, Harry realized that he was becoming delusional. People didn't think of these things when they were about to die, did they? Yet as he finally succumbed to the blackness of unconsciousness, Harry Potter realized for the first time what it meant to be alive.

Sylvanas Areon paused mid-step, the most appealing, sweet yet tangy scent wafting into her nostrils. She closed her eyes and let out a deep breath, inhaling again in pure pleasure. The smell was strong, too strong, she realized dimly as her legs had already started taking her to the source.

The smell became even stronger as she approached one of the cookie-cutter homes, and Sylvanas felt a sense of detached foreboding. As an individual with her occupation, she was not intimidated, or even disturbed, per say, but instead the situation sparked a kind of grim interest. Sylvanas blended seamlessly into the shadows, flicking her wrist over the doorknob and pausing when she heard a satisfying click.

The door swung open gently and the wave of that blissful smell was now so overwhelming, it made her stagger a few steps back before she gained control of herself. The night was as silent as the calm magic that permeated the air. As her sense of smell led her to a small cupboard underneath a rickety, worn down stairs that almost seemed to have warped, Sylvanas paused for the third time that night.

It wasn't hesitation that stopped her, but a quick calculation of the pros and cons of intervening in this situation. No doubt what was behind this door was a magical child – a wizard. Yet from what she could gather from the scent of the blood, the human child was undeniably powerful. At the very least, he or she had potential. Her eyes flashed red. Potential was one thing they never disregarded.

Her hand slid over the door handle, unlocking the door and slowly, ever so slowly, opening it to witness the sight inside. Even for one such as her, it was disgusting.

Blood coated the walls and the floor. She covered her nose as she felt her canines elongate and her vision become sharper. At the very center of the cramped cupboard, there lay a body. Arms were twisted inflexibly, legs bent and broken, even a bone of the ribcage peeking out from a clearly malnourished body.

It was a boy, she realized absently, kneeling down to touch his matted hair. Her eyes widened as she moved his fringe from his eyes and saw the lightning bolt scar. Sylvanas let out a hiss in surprise. Harry Potter. _The_ Harry Potter. The so-called savior of the wizarding world was here, lying in a pool of his own blood unable to even move or defend himself.

_Irresponsible humans!_ For only the fourth time in her relatively long life, she felt a surge of pity. Glancing at the hand still entangled in his hair, she pondered. He did not belong here. Certainly the power that lay beneath his skin, untapped but still bound, was meant for greater things than his world could ever offer him. With her contacts, she could grant him a better future. Although, moving against an entire society without the slightest consultation with the high council was risky.

It wasn't that the wizarding world was a threat, but her world had kept itself hidden for centuries, and even more. Introducing a new element would make the entire situation…unstable.

Muttering a curse under her breath, Sylvanas hoisted up the small body and vanished. Later, the Dursleys would come back home from a social gathering, and Vernon Dursley would feel a chill go up his spine when he realized that his nephew was gone without the slightest trace.

Harry Potter flinched at the redness behind his eyelids. He cracked his eyes open and turned and moaned as the harsh sunlight assaulted his senses. Wait. Wasn't he supposed to be dead? Was this heaven?

He twisted, an arm bracing himself as he slowly and painfully rose into a seated position. His spine tingled and he whirled to the side, meeting a pair of deep, maroon eyes. The woman had long, dark hair that easily fell to frame her face as she rose to move towards him. Her body was slim, hips moving sensually, swaying with the movements of her legs.

Her face was pale with high cheekbones and a finely chiseled nose. More than her appearance, however, was her air. She walked with the demeanor of a dancer, swift, graceful. Her legs made smooth arches as she moved from the far corner of the room to his side in graceful strides. As Harry stared, enraptured, he fleetingly thought that she was uncommonly beautiful.

She held out a manicured hand, "Sylvanas Areon."

Harry glanced at it, but made no move to take it. The woman smiled, and recalled her hand, glancing at the clock.

"You have been unconscious for the past two days. Needless to say, your list of injuries was long. You are currently in one of the smaller sanctuaries of the Areon clan—"

"Wait…what?"

Sylvanas Areon glanced at him intently, and Harry felt as if he were being probed. "I apologize. I did not realize the lack of information you possessed." Harry almost felt indignant before he realized that the words were meant to be a statement of fact, not an insult. He nodded and settled back into the pillows, propping them up to provide adequate support.

She waited for him before continuing, "I found you at your guardian's home on the verge of death, and so I brought you here."

Harry got the impression that this Sylvanas Areon was not apt at explaining things. Although likely unintentional, she was not providing him with answers. However, as long as she did not hide them from him, he was fine with having to ask.

"How did you find me? What happened to the Dursleys?"

"The Dursleys? Ah yes, your guardians. I presume they are now searching for you. It is never a wise thing to leave evidence of your crimes." Her voice was hard and firm, with an odd accent and manner of speech, as if she was from a time from the past. "As for how I found you…" Sylvanas smiled, giving him a glimpse of her elongated canines.

"_Vampire_. But how would that…" Harry paused, thinking, "Blood. Is that how?"

She nodded, an oddly displaced, excited glint in her eye.

"Who are you?"

"That depends on how this conversation proceeds." Harry's eyes narrowed in caution. "Don't worry. The worst case will end in me being simply a figment of your imagination." Well, that was hardly reassuring.

"Does Dumbledore know I am here?" Harry's hand twisted in his bedsheets.

She looked at him critically, "Do you wish him to know?"

Harry looked up, meeting her gaze for a moment before averting his eyes, "I'd prefer if it were kept a secret, actually."

The woman stared at him for a moment more, before turning and elegantly settling herself into a chair at his bedside. "Tell me Harry Potter," Harry's eyes widened, "Where will you go from here?"

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean."

"You have two options. You may choose to return to your sixth year Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in September, learn what little you can there before attempting to destroy a wizard far older, more powerful, and more experienced than you are. You can choose to remain wrapped around the finger of a man you now know is hardly a Light Lord," her voice became deceptively quiet, brimming with a kind of emotion Harry could only guess at.

"And the second option?"

She smiled dangerously, "The second option is that you choose to forsake that world and embrace another."

"W-what?"

"There exists an entire society underground hidden from those above ground, as well as an institution to teach you what you require should you accept. Certainly what you learn here will exceed far beyond what you learned at that paltry school. However, the stakes are higher. There is no such thing as shelter here. A step out of place means death. Humans are a rarity here. Most do not have the power to contend with their enemies in this place."

"Then why are you offering _me_ this?"

Her eyes glinted, "Because you have potential. And here, potential is something that is worth its weight in gold."

Harry stared pensively at the hands in his lap.

"I still don't understand. Is it because of who I—"

"It has nothing to do with the fact that you are Harry Potter!" she snapped firmly, "Names matter very little here without power. You can name yourself whatever you want, but it is only when you have power that you will earn respect. I brought you here because I saw potential. I saw the possibility of power in you."

"Why are you going so far for me? What's in it for you?"

"Truthfully, nothing," she glanced up towards the high ceiling with a thoughtful glance. "I haven't acted this selflessly in a very long time. Perhaps it was simply fascination…?"

She laughed then, a low, husky sound that sent shivers down his spine. "At the very least, you may make things interesting."

Harry felt a wave of dizziness then, clutching at the bed sheets as the room spun around him.

Sylvanas stood, any lingering traces of laughter disappearing from her face, "You are still injured. We can continue this conversation after you have rested."

He was ready to protest. He still had so many questions to ask, but as the room spun and darkness crept up to cover the corners of his vision, Harry let himself fall into unconsciousness.

When Harry awoke again, groaning at the stabbing pain shooting through his skull, he turned at the sound of the door creaking open. Sylvanas stood there, a tray of various foods in her hand.

She pulled his bedside table closer to him and set the tray on it delicately. "Eat."

Harry glanced at the food, not finding any of it familiar, "What is all this?" He winced. He hadn't meant to sound impolite, but his crabbiness had made him slightly rude.

The woman merely laughed it off, "Food. While you are eating, we can continue the conversation."

Harry picked up a piece of orange _thing_, glancing at the blob-like shape with a disgust he hoped had not leaked onto his face. Putting it gingerly into his mouth, Harry _moaned_ in appreciation. Absolutely delicious. Bursts of sweet and tangy flavor filled his mouth, "This is…this is incredible."

"I thought you might like it. It is a delicacy," Sylvanas smiled, before her eyes turned dark, "Back to our previous topic of conversation, did you have questions for me?"

Harry nodded, looking up from his food, "The school – institution – you mentioned. You said humans are a rarity there?"

"It's not that Astreas Academy does not accept humans, but there is a significant difference of power between those that learn here, and those that learn in your world. Other magical beings – werewolves, vampires, elves, succubi, the like – are more suited for this world."

"What exactly is this world?"

"You are currently in an underground city. It has been hidden from the surface world for centuries – a millennia even. The exact date of its founding is unclear, even in our texts, but some say that the city was built out of the need for a sanctuary. When it changed into what it is now is just as unclear. Now, the city has become a place of power and politics. We are skilled at the lost arts."

"Wait – lost arts?"

"Assassination, Runes and Rituals, Necromancy, Beast Magic, Alchemy, along with other of the arts. This, along with whatever else they have taught in your world."

"Astreas Academy, you said? What is it like?"

"It's certainly far more dangerous than anything you will have ever experienced at Hogwarts. The professors turn a blind eye to violence and murder. The first principle is to not get caught at what you do. The instant you do get caught, that is when your life ends there. But," she glanced at Harry, her eyes glowing with restrained excitement, "I believe that you will _thrive_ there."

Harry tilted his head to the side in thought. It was true that this school might teach him more than what he had learned at Hogwarts, but was it worth the risk? Putting arrogance aside, he knew he was determined and strong-willed enough to make his way to the top. He knew he had the potential to attain power.

Hadn't he been looking for something like this? An opportunity to gain the knowledge he needed to defeat Voldemort once and for all. Hogwarts would not give him this. Dumbledore certainly had no qualms about risking his safety time and time again each year, but if by risking his life, he could gain something far more valuable than he had now, it would be worth it. This time, he did have nothing to lose.

Harry's smile had a dark edge as he looked up at her, "When do I enroll?"

Sylvanas Areon sighed internally. Her bet had paid off, "You already are. I enrolled you while you were asleep. Now what is left is to buy your materials, and create your disguise. If you are sufficiently rested for now, we can go."


	2. Chapter 2

Harry's eyes glimmered with wonder as he gazed at the city below him. It was a mixture of the most beautiful architecture he had ever seen. Tall, majestic spires gleamed under the light of the glowing, high ceiling, pillars of marble and polished black stone decorated the exterior of many buildings. Some were tall, reaching almost half-way to the high surface above them. Others were smaller, but no less extravagant.

From this height, he could see an underground river flowing through the city itself, twisting and winding its way to each of the four corners before wandering of. Fountains sent sprays of sparkling water into the air, each carefully detailed and decorated. It seemed as if the city contained a mixture of cultures and civilizations, all gathered in one place. There were modern buildings, high skyscrapers with a mix of western architecture. Others were older, preferring more Roman styles with smooth, round, white pillars and rectangular buildings. Others still completely different, with central domes and gentle arches at every entrance, an almost Arabic style.

Harry was mesmerized. "This is…this is…" he fumbled, unable to find the words for such a sight.

Sylvanas smiled fondly beside him, "_breath-taking_. Is it not?"

Harry merely nodded dumbly, paying no mind to the clichéd statement. It was truly incredible that such a city existed right under the surface of the outside world. Gold and Silver, gems and polished marble – the city _defined_ wealth. He had never before been to a place he had found so riveting. He wondered in the back of his mind: how had the city amassed so much? Of course, an existence over several centuries long was ample time to gather wealth – but somehow, even that didn't seem like enough.

"As more and more inhabitants came from different parts of the world, they brought their culture to add to _this_. Now, there is no one culture here. The city has its own laws and regulations, of course, but with so many beings living varying lifestyles, it did not make sense to restrict them."

"You should be aware of this however," she glanced at him, "Because each person you encounter here will likely be of a different race than you, be aware of their culture and their etiquette. Standing up from a table at dinner time may mean nothing in your world, but it is an intolerable insult in elvish."

Harry tilted his head in acknowledgement. Sylvanas grasped him by the wrist for an instant, "We should go. There is much to be accomplished today."

The streets were paved with a kind of faintly shiny, deep-grey stone. Stalls and various shops were lined on the side, selling a vast array of clothing and accessories, artifacts, and equipment. It was the student district, close enough to Astreas Academy for convenience. Sylvanas glanced at the spare clothes Harry was currently wearing, "Your uniform first, then."

She led Harry into a small shop to the left. Racks of clothing were placed haphazardly around the interior, fabrics strewn over any available surface and even the chairs each carrying their own piles of fabric. "It seems unprofessional, yes," Sylvanas commented, "but the seamstress is the best in this district."

Speaking of which, she appeared from behind one of the racks, carrying a large pile of clothes in one hand while balancing various books and patterns in another. Harry's eyes widened at the sight. She had skin that was almost a darker shade of golden yellow. Her hair was a chestnut brown, long and falling to her waist. With high cheekbones and an angular, long face and triangular ears tapered at the end, Harry hazarded a guess that she was an elf.

The woman stopped when she saw them, "Sylvanas Areon. What a pleasure to have you here."

"Strictly business, this time, Elsephyne," her tone carried an odd note of disappointment, "I have a new student that requires a set of uniforms."

The woman seemed upset for a faint second, before she perked up. "Of course, and this is him, I presume?" she glanced at him from the side, "Oh! A human! How intriguing."

"Indeed. Do not worry about the protective gear as of yet. He has yet to choose his specialty."

"Very well. Now, if you would step up here," the elf led Harry up to a small pedestal. She waved her hand over a pile of tape measurers, and they rose in unison, swirling around Harry to gather measurements. A quill on the desk automatically took notes in her notebook.

In the meantime, she returned with a pile of dark fabrics in her arms. "Black would be most convenient, but perhaps a few other shades for variety," she stated, glancing over him critically while sorting out the cloth by shades. The tape measurers returned to their previous spot and she turned to them, "Come back in three hours." The woman immediately turned and then disappeared behind another rack of clothing.

Harry blinked, "That's it?"

"She is odd, yes," something of a grin played with Sylvanas' lips, "but efficient. She will not come up with something that displeases you."

"We should go obtain a disguise for you now. Even in this place, it is not safe for you to wander as Harry Potter."

The next stop was an old, dusty shop at the edge of the street, almost covered over by one of the larger, jeweler's shops. Harry wondered at her choice. Being surrounded by so many large shops with glittering and sparkling clean interiors, why was she going only for places that seemed like they would belong better in a corner of Knocturn Alley? It didn't seem as if the prices were any different, so why choose such a place.

Almost as if reading his mind, she glanced at the look of skepticism on his face and replied, "Older shops have more experienced craftsmen. While the newer shops certainly do gather the more exquisite clientele, you will find the most valuable items in the places less visited."

"Do you always frequent shops like that one?"

"It is sometimes useful to venture into newer stores, no doubt. However, the service is often too…sweet for my tastes."

Harry shrugged, not understanding exactly what she had meant, but followed her into cramped, dingy shop with an air of suppressed disgust. It wasn't that he minded the dust and the feeling of being shoved into a space too small for you – he had lived with it most of his life. However, the remnants jar of what he was sure were brains that lay broken on the floor certainly was not doing much for his already shaky opinion of the place.

He stepped over it gingerly, walking over to the counter. There was a thick layer of dust settled on the countertop, turning what would have been a very vibrant shade of golden brown into a dull grey. The floor was so dusty he could see his footprints on the wooden panels. There were spider webs in various corners, high up beyond reach. Sylvanas didn't seem bothered. Instead, she came by his side and waited, a cool glint to her eyes and a patient expression on her face.

"Harry Potter." Harry yelped and stumbled back into a stack of boxes, tumbling onto the fallen pile behind him and wincing as he felt something break.

"You're lucky there was only garbage in those, or else I would have charged you for damages." The voice belonged to a thin, grey old man who reminded him uncannily of Ollivander. His face was boney, curly hair covering only the back half of his head. He walked forward with a limp, Harry noticed, his walking stick forgotten in an abandoned corner of the store.

That's when he realized, "How do you know who I am?"

The man chuckled, a deep, grating sound that made Harry wince, "What would be the point of making a disguise if I didn't know who I was hiding beneath it?"

Harry blinked. Well…that made sense in an odd way. The man came up to him suddenly, right in his face so Harry could peer into his dark grey eyes.

"Ah yes," He backed up, grasping his chin in thought, "The scar will need to be hidden."

Sylvanas raised an eyebrow and rolled her eyes, but the man merely grinned at her, showing surprisingly white teeth. He turned back to Harry, "Well, first thing's gotta come last. So kid, pick a colour."

"Blue?" Harry hazarded a guess.

"Nah. Won't work," Harry blinked as the man simply dismissed him, turning aside to glance out the window. After a minute or so, "Ah! They will expect you to look plain. Well, that's stupid. Let's make it Red? No…wouldn't fit." He went behind the counter and rummaged around a few old boxes.

"Silver? No, that would just make you look old. So grey's out of the question too. Brown is too plain. Blond is overrated." At that point, Harry realized that the man was trying to pick a hair colour for him.

The storekeeper turned back to stare at his head. "Perhaps keep it black – but with a tint of blue."

"Isn't that what I had—" Harry started.

"Of course not." The man went into his storeroom, and came out a minute later with a vial of dark liquid. He brought out his wand, waved it at one of the only empty corners in the room, beside his walking stick, and pushed Harry into the conjured chair. Harry looked behind him as the man moved a basin behind his head.

"Isn't there a potion or something I could drink?"

"Although spells and orally administered potions do exist to change hair colour, they are flimsy at best, and wear off disgustingly quickly," the storekeeper scoffed, "As if I would sell anything like that."

He roughly grabbed Harry's hair and shoved his head into the basin before taking liberal amounts of the viscous blue fluid and dripping it into Harry's hair. Harry was almost ready to protest with indignation at the harsh treatment. That was, before the man's boney fingers started massaging the liquid into his scalp. His scalp started tingling, first slow and almost unnoticeable, but Harry winced, as it became a stronger, fierier sensation.

After ten minutes or so, the man removed his hands from Harry's hair and sent his head underneath a cold jet of water. Harry almost flinched back, were his head not held in place. The man removed the basin, dried his hair and looked at him approvingly. "Now, a haircut should suffice."

Several pairs of scissors came whirling out from underneath the counter as a large sheet of plastic settled over his torso and around his neck. A few waves of a wand and the scissors worked their magic, styling his hair into a smooth and sleek appearance with layered edges. Harry glanced at himself in the mirror. Already he looked different.

His hair shone jet-black, but had the faintest hint of dark blue when the light struck at the perfect angle. His previously messy hairstyle had been tamed, and now his hair fell in sleek straightness to the nape of his neck. It was layered, the ends sharp and tipped in an almost unnoticeably, faintly lighter shade of blue.

The man grinned, "Now for the eyes." Harry had been dreading this. His eyes were the last reminder of his mother – the only feature he had acquired from her. And now, he was erasing her completely. Despite his own reluctance, it was a necessity. His vibrant emerald eyes were almost a trademark characteristic of Harry Potter now. He couldn't afford to be caught because of sentimentality. If he was to accept this new life, he had to do it utterly and completely.

The old man came back, another vial of deep blue liquid in his hand, "I figured it'd look better if they matched. Put your head back," he grasped Harry's head and tilted it back towards him. In an instant, without a word of warning, he uncorked the vial and poured the liquid into each of his eyes.

Harry bit through his bottom lip in an effort to muffle the scream that threatened to tear out from his throat. His eyes were being _stabbed_ and _burned_ and _gouged out with a toothpick_. Blood trickled from his lips onto the floor beneath him, and Harry's eyes rolled back in his head in pain. He seized, cursing in six different languages in in a vain attempt to drown out the agony.

When it ended, there was a deep silence and a tension as thick and dense as a block of wood. Harry moaned, sitting up from what he vaguely realized was the floor. He must have fallen off of the chair at some point. Harry blinked, groaning, reaching for his glasses. As Sylvanas's face came into focus, he saw her smirking in approval. She turned to the storeowner with a nod, "Not bad."

The man merely grinned and shoved a mirror at Harry's face. Harry looked at himself and felt his now dark, deep blue eyes widen in awe. His eyes were just as vibrant as they had been as the stunning shade of emerald, only now they were more sapphire. They complemented his sharp, almost black hair, as well as his pale complexion. Harry stared at himself. Now completely different, he was unrecognizable as Harry Potter.

Pulling him off of the floor, the man turned to him, waved his wand in a complex string of arches and turns, and Harry felt a prickling on his forehead.

"What are you doing?"

"Warding. There is a reason people come to me for disguises. No one can break my wards."

"Why didn't you just apply the ward over the whole area. Why go through the trouble of changing my hair and eye colour?"

The man glanced at him piercingly, "Wards are stronger when they cover less. Although they likely would not break had I covered the entirety of you, with your reputation, it's best to be careful. One last thing, then. Glasses or contacts?"

"Huh?"

"We'll need to replace those. Not only are they recognizable, they're disgusting."

Harry brushed aside the insult. He was telling the truth after all. The hastily mended frame of his round glasses was now dented and scratched, the lenses themselves almost a translucent white. But he wasn't sure he was comfortable with the idea of having something on his eyeball. The thought alone made him inwardly cringe. Although contacts were more practical, there must be some way of getting around the disadvantages of having glasses.

"Glasses, then"

The man nodded, pushing Harry to the counter, and waving his wand. Hundreds of glasses flew out of a stack of boxes, settling on the counter and a few hundred on the floor surrounding it. Harry gaped. The man grasped his head for the umpteenth time in the past hour and a half and turned it so Harry's eyes met his own.

"Hmm. Although you've been wearing them for a while, circular lenses would be hideous. We should probably get rid of the oval ones as well." He waved his wand vaguely towards the counter and a large group of glasses floated back into their respective boxes.

"Triangular ones can go too. You'd probably be better off with something more rectangular." Again, more glasses floated back. "The more flashy shades can go – black will do fine." In the end, out of almost a thousand choices, Harry ended up with a simple, yet stylish pair of rectangular lenses with thin black frames. Sylvaanas paid the man handsomely, and he grinned wolfishly as he pocketed the money, glancing at Harry proudly, "One of my better works, I must say." Harry left, feeling as if he had been picked and prodded apart to become some stranger's piece of art.

"He did his work well. You look completely different to what you appeared as before. No one would recognize you as Harry Potter now. Have you picked a name for yourself?" Sylvanas inquired, falling into step beside him as she led him to another shop to acquire his school supplies.

Harry pursed his lips. Truthfully, he had thought about it, but no name had stuck in his mind. He'd considered them all and rejected them just as quickly. He'd briefly considered taking up the name "Black" in Sirius' memory, but Dumbledore would expect something like that.

"It is alright. You still have much time to think."

"Although…" Harry's mind turned to a dusky, dreary afternoon back in elementary. While the other children played outside during lunch hour, he stayed in the library, avoiding Dudley and his gang. Curled up under the window with a book of Names, Harry recalled a name that had fascinated him. It seemed a perfect mix of beauty and power. It wasn't a name he had heard before, and it had been the first time that a mere name had caused him to shiver in childish excitement. _Power_. The name itself meant power.

Even as a child, the mere thought of power had entranced him. To have so much influence that a whisper would carry across a room, that everyone would turn and simply _obey_. To have the ability to command so unwaveringly, to possess the kind of charisma that lured even the most resistant ones to your side. To have the ability to turn your dreams into a reality that went far beyond changing one life – it changed the world. Harry had been fascinated by power.

He looked up, "I was thinking of my first name. Kiril."

Sylvanas raised an eyebrow, "If I'm not mistaken, that is Greek. It means 'lord' or the 'one who rules', " she was pensive for a moment, before smiled suddenly, "I believe it suits you. If I may make a suggestion for your surname?"

Slightly surprised, Harry nodded.

"Ercari," she stated, pronouncing the 'c' as if she would a 'k', "It's in ancient Druid—"

"They exist?" Harry interrupted.

Sylvanas glanced at him pointedly, and Harry rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, "It means 'rebirth'. While they are extinct, none of them having lived to survive their numerous tribal wars, rebirth was a concept that was held in utmost importance. Druids worshipped nature. They and their entire culture were based around the idea of the cycle in which all living things must live and die, and die before they can be reborn again into a better life."

"Not many live now that know the language, so you will not be questioned for having such a name. I believe it is a name that defines you, both in meaning and in importance. "

Harry didn't know what to say. For moments, he was speechless. Finally, after exhaling softly, Harry looked up to meet her eyes, his own wide in earnestness, "Thank you." The words were vague at best, but he knew that she had understood.

"I will complete the paperwork for you then. You will be signed into the Astreas Academy with this name."

_Kiril Ercari_. It was an odd name, for human standards. The Greek name was rarely used, and a Druidic name was even more bizarre, but Harry had no doubt that where he was going, his name would be the least strange thing about him.

His basic school supplies were quickly obtained in a set of shops by the edge of the alley. A ruinic knife, papers and pens (the underground world had long since stopped using such backward devices such as parchment and quills), a chest of small vials, each containing various potions for healing wounds and neutralizing poisons. Harry noted with some apprehension the tone in Sylvanas' voice when she had told him, "Purchase extra. You will need them."

Although there were other items that he still needed to purchase, this would be at a later date when his exact specialty was decided upon. They had gone back to the seamstress to purchase Harry's clothing. It was designed well, Harry noted with appreciation. The underground world had long since discarded the robes that traditional wizarding society wore, instead preferring more comfortable attire that allowed for ease of movement.

He now wore black pants, not baggy, but not skin-tight either. On top was something similar to a jacket, black and reaching mid-thigh. It had small buttons that ran along the inside, and while this made the top more difficult to wear, the sleek appearance suited his new look.

Harry found that he couldn't help but gape at himself whenever he passed a mirror. He was absolutely unrecognizable as Harry Potter, not that he _was_ Harry Potter anymore. _Kiril Ercari_. The name sounded as unfamiliar as his new life. It was odd, he thought with the slightest hint of excitement, that somehow in the moment that he had given everything up, he had gained so much more by mere coincidence. Sylvanas had informed him of how she had simply stumbled by him, literally, as she was lured to Number 4 Privet Drive by the mere scent of his blood.

If she had not come for him, he would have died. He had been prepared to die. And now, when given a second chance with the kind of freedom that he'd only dreamed of, Harry felt that he was indescribably glad. Although surviving in Astreas Academy was likely to be every bit as difficult as she had emphasized, the possibilities for him now seemed almost endless. And living his life confined and restricted had made him more determined and motivated than ever to expand his own boundaries, push at his limits until they broke and withered away.

This woman had made it possible, Harry thought as he glanced up at the stunningly beautiful figure that walked alongside of him. He had noticed, that in this world, many of the inhabitants were uncommonly attractive. He supposed it had to do with what they were.

In a moment of stunning clarity, Harry realized. He was famous in his world, but here, _here_ he was no one. Kiril Ercari had no fame and nothing that made him worthy to consider as an ally or as a friend. Harry was essentially starting over with a clean slate without anything from his past life to hold him back. More than that. Being a nobody meant that no one would notice him. At least initially. He now had the chance to experience complete neutrality for the first time in his life. As Harry Potter his every movement was monitored, his reading material selectively given to him, and his choice in friends analyzed to the last ounce of meaning. His entire life had been the making of everyone _except_ for him, but now, no one would care enough to monitor him. Not until he was seen as powerful, or seen as weak. Harry felt a smirk overcome whatever expression had previously settled on his face. This was a chance he wasn't going to let go of.

Later that night, Harry fingered his almost black hair thoughtfully. He had all the knowledge in the world available to him now – that is, if he survived the process. He smirked darkly. After all he'd been through before getting here, there was no way he was going to die so soon. From this moment on, he was Kiril. He was absolutely no one, and never before had being a nobody felt so incredible.

The next morning, Sylvanas passed him a letter at the breakfast table, "Your enrollment letter arrived this morning."

He tore open the envelope and skimmed through the contents. The letter was worded roughly the same as his Hogwarts letter had been, without any of polite tone. It was short, and to the point.

_Mr. Kiril Ercari,_

_You have been accepted at Astreas Academy. Find enclosed a list of courses. You are to choose between a minimum of six courses and a maximum of ten. Return this letter within two days of the received date. _

_Available Courses:_

Harry glanced at the list and put an "x" beside his ten most favoured courses.

_Transfiguration and Animation - x_

_Charms and Enchantments - x_

_Potions_

_Wandless Magic - x_

_Offensive and Defensive Spellcasting - x_

_Necromancy_

_Warding and Runes - x_

_History of Magic_

_Herbology_

_Inter-racial Studies_

_Spell Creation - x_

_Curse Breaking - x_

_Assassination - x_

_Healing - x_

_Linguistic Studies_

_Armour and Weaponry_

_Shadow Magic - x_

_Dreamcasting_

_Alchemy (requires prior knowledge of Potions)_

_We await your response._

_Amaris Windwalker_

As soon as he had signed his name on the bottom, the paper disappeared in a wisp of smoke. He had wanted to check Linguistic studies as well – as it might have come in use in a completely new world, but Harry had decided against it. It was something he could learn in books, or find a tutor for if he had to.

While he new instinctively that necromancy would not suit him, shadow magic on the other hand seemed intriguing, as had assassination.

Harry glanced at his hand, where the letter had been held just a moment ago, and smiled.

**Author's Note:**

**I was a bit in doubt about the name, and still am, so if I've got anything wrong about the meaning or origin, please inform me. **

**Otherwise, Harry will get his first taste of Astreas Academy in the next chapter. Enjoy.**


End file.
